


The One You Choose

by Livinginfictions



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bad Parent Sheriff Stilinski, Beta Derek Hale, Depressed Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is a Softie, Don’t copy to another site, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, I have too many tags, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 03B, Scent Marking, Scenting, Sharing a Bed, Stiles Stilinski is Pushed Out of the Pack, Stiles is a Year Older Than Scott, Touch-Starved Stiles Stilinski, True Alpha Derek Hale, because I said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:02:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinginfictions/pseuds/Livinginfictions
Summary: Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally 13k of me fuming with hatred of Scott McCall and therefore doing my best to ignore his existence, so, sorry if you're not into that. I'm gonna post a chapter every two days until it's finished.
> 
> Special thanks to my Beta [PerseShow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerseShow) for giving this a quick once over before I started posting. You're a doll. <3

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours. Just glimpses of Scott turning a corner with Lydia and Isaac leaning into his sides, Kira clinging to his hand, the four of them helping each other stay standing in their grief. Stiles knew where they went during lunch in Lydia’s car, and he sat next to the windows in the cafeteria so he could see them leave the parking lot and return a couple minutes before the bell rang.

Chris tailed him home, as usual. He’d been following Stiles non-stop since the funeral, not even bothering to be subtle about it. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the curb across from his house bare of Chris’ SUV. Stiles understood, so he never tried to escape. When traffic was bad, he even slowed down to let Chris keep him in sight. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide.

He spent the night reading the newly translated sections of the bestiary. Lydia had shared the document with him and Scott before, and now every time she finished a new entry his computer dinged automatically. Stiles was pretty sure she’d forgotten he was allowed access, or he would’ve been removed. Lydia hadn’t spoken to him, hadn’t responded to his texts, hadn’t looked at him.

In fact, no one at school did. Not even Malia, now that he’d made things clear.

On his first day back, Stiles’d been shocked when Scott wasn’t in the lunchroom, worried when he hadn’t picked up the phone, and confused when he saw Lydia’s car leaving the lot. Then Malia had plopped down into the seat next to him, and he’d nearly retched.

It wasn’t her fault, he knew that. He’d tried to explain before, but she’d just smiled at him and kissed his cheek before heading home. She’d tried again that day, and Stiles had just lost it, shoving her away and tripping backward out of his seat.

“Stop! How many times do I have to tell you?” he’d shouted, grabbing his backpack by the strap and racing out of the cafeteria. He barely made it to his locker before she was there again, sticking her face into his neck and huffing at him.

He knew she was confused, but it didn’t make him any less itchy at the touch of her skin. Again, he shoved, like kneeing a dog in the chest to make it stop jumping. “Back off!”

“What is wrong with you?” she asked. “If you let me scent you it’ll calm you down.”

“No, it won’t! I don’t want you to touch me! I told you, I don’t want this.”

“What?”

“You!”

Malia whined, stepping back. “But...we’re pack.”

“No, we aren’t.” Stiles smacked a hand into his locker and took a breath, trying again. “I told you. We aren’t pack. I shouldn’t have—what happened shouldn’t have happened. I was high as a kite and hadn’t slept in almost two days and there was a literal demon possessing my body and trying to convince me to murder everyone I knew. I wasn’t in my right mind, and neither were you.”

As understanding finally crossed Malia’s face, her eyes turned a bright blue. “You did this to me. You’re the one who made me human!”

And Stiles got it now, how awful it had to be to be stuck in a body she didn’t understand and couldn’t control the way she wanted. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

But Malia snarled at him and pushed him back into the lockers. The sharp point of the latch dug into his shoulder blade as she bared her fangs at him. “You stay away from me. Stay away!”

He didn’t try to go after her when she ran off, and after that she stuck to Scott’s back like glue.

Stiles went to his room when he got home each day. It didn’t make it any easier to breathe, but at least there he didn’t flinch about touching things. Anywhere else in the house he couldn’t stand to move things out of place. It didn’t feel right to switch the channel from the show his dad had been watching, or to leave dishes in the sink, or finish off any of the food. He’d spent years leaving messes for his dad to clean up, and now, with his dad working double shifts in place of the officers still in the hospital or the ones that had yet to be replaced, the last thing he wanted to do was leave any more.

Within two weeks he’d become an expert at putting things back exactly where he’d found them, turned just the same direction, never too empty. He took out the trash without being asked, wiped down the sink with a paper towel after washing his dishes, made sure all the laundry was done and folded and put away before his dad got home for the night. After buying his own marker so he didn’t wear down the one already attached to the small dry erase board on the fridge, Stiles started leaving notes for his dad. Every time he went to the library or ran off his spastic energy at the park, he wrote what time he’d left, where he was going, and what time he would be back.

His dad didn’t even seem to notice the changes Stiles’d made to his behavior, but it eased the guilt a little.

After a month, Stiles forgot when he’d last spoken out loud. Talking to himself made him feel paranoid and there wasn’t anyone else around, so he just stayed quiet. His homework wasn’t hard, and it never took as long as he wanted it to. When you only sleep a couple hours a night, suddenly there’s a lot of extra hours in the day to fill. So he read, and wrote, and researched. He made a copy of the translations Lydia had done and started adding his own little notes to his version. Spending so much time staring at his books made Stiles’ eyes hurt, but the thought of not being able to read send Stiles speeding out to the nearest gas station and buying a pair of reading glasses.

He closed his eyes when he had to.

“What is Chris doing here?”

The voice behind Stiles made every hair on the back of his neck stand up. Quickly, he stared hard at the page in front of him, reading and rereading the first sentence just to be sure he could. Not dreaming. It wasn’t part of the music he had playing in the background of his laptop either. Hallucination?

“Stiles. What is Chris doing outside your house?”

Stiles whirled around, knocking his empty thermos to the ground. He was real.

Derek Hale was standing in his bedroom, back to wearing that damn leather jacket Stiles could have sworn had been ripped apart at least a dozen times by now. His hair was getting a little long, swooping down over his forehead a little instead of sticking up with product. The stubble on his cheeks was longer too, the kind that one could scratch their fingers through while thinking. His eyes were—blue. Bright blue. He wasn’t an Alpha anymore, how could Stiles have forgotten?

“ _Stiles_!”

Flinching, Stiles opened his mouth. “What?” he asked. His voice cracked like forcing a rusted gear to turn. Was it possible to forget how to talk? Malia had done it right away, even after years of forced silence in her coyote form.

Derek frowned, furrowing his brows. “Chris is outside your house. Tell me why.”

“He always is,” Stiles responded, feeling a little less like he needed a drink.

“Why?”

“He needs to know where I am.”

Turning to look out the window, then around Stiles’ room, Derek crossed his arms. He repeated that annoying word. “Why? Is something wrong? I thought you were better.”

Stiles didn’t bother answering the last part, but he didn’t see how the first two could do any harm. His thermos was out of place though, so he leaned over to pick it up as he spoke, settling it into the correct corner of his desk and straightening his papers. “Nothing is wrong. He has nothing else, and he’s waiting for it to come back so he can stop me.”

The need for water was strong again, with all this talking. Stiles didn’t think as he stood up and pressed his chair into place before lifting his thermos and heading out into the hall to get water from the tap. He used the bathroom at the same time and brushed his teeth so he wouldn’t need to leave his room when his dad got home in an hour.

As he pushed slowly back into his room and closed the door, Stiles startled at the sight of Derek, still standing at his window and apparently fuming. He’d forgotten about Derek.

At his arrival, Derek pointed out the open sill. “How long has he been stalking you?” he scowled.

“Since the funeral,” Stiles rasped. He took a sip of his water.

“And Scott’s okay with this? Your dad is? With him just waiting for the chance to kill you?”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t think they know.”

At this, Derek’s jaw actually dropped in confusion. He took a breath to speak, but paused, taking another breath. Then another. “When—when was the last time Scott was here?”

That took thought. Was it the last time Stiles remembered, or had Scott been in his room sometime after the Nogitsune had taken over?

Before he could admit he didn’t know, Derek seemed to catch on and Stiles hated the concern on his face. Rather than acknowledge it, he went to straighten his papers. No, wait, he’d already done that. Fine, he would just go back to reading, even though the prospect of losing Derek’s voice made his chest hurt. It’d been a long time since someone had spoken to Stiles.

Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—Derek wasn’t deterred when Stiles reseated himself and went back to work. He just continued his examination of Stiles’ room.

Stiles was almost proud of it. He’d cleaned it thoroughly and regularly for the past month. Not a sock was out of place. All the bedding was fresh. Even his pinboard was empty, with the tacks all lined up according to alphabetical color. He had to do something with his time, and keeping his room clean and organized was as good as anything else.

Derek seemed less enthused, going by Stiles’ glances at him. Each new corner he explored brought his brows down further and made his jaw clench tighter, but it was Stiles’ bed that pushed him to speak again.

“Where have you been sleeping?”

That was an awful question. The stupidest fucking question on the planet, and Stiles jerked to his feet before Derek’s mouth had time to close. “Get out.”

Turning his attention to Stiles himself, Derek ignored the request and stepped forward into Stiles’ space. “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

The loud creak of the door downstairs made Stiles’ chest tighten, and he threw himself toward his desk, clicking rapidly on his laptop to turn off his music.

Utter silence fell in his room as Stiles stared at the door, listening to the miniscule sounds from below. The fridge opening and closing, a cupboard clacking. Finally, the soft groaning of the stairs as his dad ascended. Heart pounding, Stiles looked down in time to see the shadow of his dad’s footsteps pass by his room, not pausing for a moment.

The Sheriff wasn’t yet to his own bedroom when Derek grabbed Stiles’ arm. “St—”

Stiles whipped his hand back and the side of his fist slammed into Derek’s chest as hard as he could manage, cutting off his word even if it didn’t make Derek so much as sway. He bared his teeth at Derek’s shocked face for a split second before turning back to listen for the telltale click of his dad’s bedroom door. Good. Another night down. Good.

As his heart slowed and Stiles came down from his usual high of listening to his father’s nighttime routine, he felt a little more bold. Derek had overstayed his welcome, and now Stiles didn’t care about being spoken to. He wanted Derek  _out_.

Derek still wasn’t talking, thank God, and when Stiles pushed at his chest, he stumbled back in confusion. Stiles kept pushing until Derek was about to fall out the window.

Fucking _finally_ , Derek took the hint and climbed out, eyes flashing blue again before he jumped off Stiles’ roof.

For the next twenty minutes, each of the pages Stiles turned in his book trembled as he tried to settle back down into his routine of silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this whole fic in less than 48 hours, so I apologize if the plot has some serious holes that I'm not seeing. It was all a bit of a daze.

By the time Stiles was able to switch off his lamp and use the rising sun as light, he had his glasses on and was as cool as a cucumber. Since his dad had the morning off, Stiles didn’t bother going to use the bathroom or having breakfast, to avoid making too much noise. He just changed into fresh clothes and left, checking in his rearview as he pulled out to see Chris dutifully starting up his car. If he didn’t share a brief moment of eye contact each time he and Chris pulled up to the gas station at the same time, Stiles would wonder how Chris managed to keep his tank full.

During school was the only time Chris left, Stiles had noticed. Probably because Scott and the others were there in case something went wrong. What did he think happened during lunch, when they left? He’d never had cause to take advantage of the lapse in security, but sometimes Stiles ate in the courtyard just to feel adventurous.

He stopped by the library after classes to drop off some books he’d forgotten to return during his free period, and when he went outside Stiles caught Chris leaning out of his open door. His eyes dropped to Chris’ hand and dark metal glinted in the afternoon sun. Note to self: don’t be late leaving school.

Back on track, Stiles kept extra slow on his way home to let Chris keep up easily. It was the least he could do.

Dinner was easy, a lasagna that he could put in the fridge for his dad and some canned green beans from the pantry. He washed all the dishes when he was done eating and went upstairs to shower, being sure to rinse the tub out afterwards and wipe the steam off the mirror.

Derek was waiting when Stiles walked into his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Stiles’ jaw dropped, but the shout he’d meant to let out didn’t come. When did words get so hard? He watched Derek for a second, then counted the fingers on his free hand just to be sure.

He was on Stiles’ bed, creating the first crease in the sheets since Stiles had put them on the mattress. There was still a frown on his face, like it hadn’t lifted since he’d left Stiles’ room the night before. He didn’t shy away when he noticed Stiles wasn’t dressed. In fact, he stared at Stiles with more of that godawful concern, running his eyes over Stiles’ stomach and arms.

Stiles decided to ignore him and went to pull clean clothes out of his dresser, grabbing the top item in each stack rather than searching for anything in particular. Holding the pile of clothes, Stiles counted to three in his head and just let go of the towel. He heard a jolt behind him before the thud of the wet towel hitting the floor, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Served Derek right.

“How are you even alive?” Derek asked, while Stiles was pulling on a pair of boxer-briefs.

He’d toweled off already in the bathroom, wiping each of his feet dry before climbing out of the tub so he wouldn’t leave any puddles, and the short walk to his room had been enough to keep the cloth from sticking to his skin.

Not needing to think about it, Stiles spoke sincerely. “I’m sorry.”

There was another jolt, but Stiles just focused on sliding his jeans up his thighs.

Derek growled a little. “That’s not what I meant. I followed you today.”

“Okay.”

The instant he finished zipping his pants, Derek turned to stare at him again, the sound of his huff making Stiles turn to meet his gaze. “You aren’t going to call me a creep?”

“I get it.”

His answer only seemed to infuriate Derek, and before he could pull on his t-shirt, Derek was up in his space like the night before. Derek’s hands came up to grasp at Stiles’ biceps and the sensation made Stiles’ head reel. He yanked himself away, hitting his back on the corkboard.

It’d been a long time since Stiles’d been touched. Malia was the last. Before that it’d been his dad holding him still through a nightmare. The night before it’d been easier to ignore since there were two layers of shirts between his skin and Derek’s, but this time it was all too real.

At least Derek didn’t push it. He put his hands up and stepped away and Stiles took the chance to count Derek’s fingers like he’d been wanting to the night before and when he first came in. Ten. All there. Good.

“Stiles. I watched you the whole day.”

In spite of himself, Stiles asked, “Were you in the school?” He tugged his shirt over his head, still keeping close to the wall.

Derek shook his head. “No, I stayed out of scenting distance. I didn’t want to worry Scott. You didn’t say anything the entire day.”

“I usually don’t.”

“And no one said anything to you.”

“They usually don’t.”

Again, he was just making Derek mad. Stiles probably needed to stop talking now, if he was going to make things worse.

He had both his shirts on now, so Stiles went and picked up his towel, tossing it into the hamper. He wasn’t going anywhere, so socks were a moot point. To his laptop it was.

The feeling of Derek’s eyes on him was nothing new, what with Chris already surveying him regularly, but for some reason it made Stiles itch. He fidgeted as he clicked through playlists to find one that would keep his mind on track, then abruptly stopped as he realized his fingers were tapping loudly on the desk.

“You don’t smell like _anyone,_ ” Derek whispered.

Stiles’ eyes stung.

It was one thing to just go through the motions. To accept that for the past month Stiles had been completely alone. He knew how much his friends were hurting and how hard his dad was working and trying to cope with having a serial killer for a son. It made sense that they would want space. But after living in a world of werewolves for over a year and a half, Stiles also knew how important scent was.

Scent made up your entire identity. It was what food you loved and where you spent your time and who your family was. If Stiles didn’t smell like his family, did he really have them? Surely his father’s scent fading from his body was a sign that it should’ve been long enough for his dad to be able to look him in the eye again? If he was part of Scott’s pack, wouldn’t Scott have noticed Stiles didn’t smell like him anymore?

Clearing his throat didn’t make the lump go away, so Stiles did it again. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. What was there to say to that?

Torn between wanting to make Derek leave and wanting to leave himself, Stiles gazed at the wall behind his computer without seeing it. It’d been too long since he’d gone for a run.

Abruptly, Stiles stood up and grabbed the socks he’d ignored before, yanking them onto his feet before he shoved them into shoes. He didn’t have the time or the patience to change into running clothes, so he just left the room and headed downstairs to write his destination on the board. Footsteps followed him the whole way.

_Gone for run at Centennial Park-4:15pm_

_Returning-6:30p_

A hand snatched the marker out of his before he could put in the ‘m’, and then Derek was wiping his note away. Stiles glared at him and opened his mouth to argue, but Derek was already writing his own note in the same place.

_Gone to Derek’s-4:15 pm_

_Returning 8 pm_

Stiles gaped. He wasn't going to Derek’s. He didn’t _want_ to go to Derek’s. Who was Derek to decide where Stiles was going?

Then Derek capped the marker and handed it back to Stiles almost gently, keeping eye contact. “Please.”

Shit.

They got out the front door before Stiles realized something was wrong. Derek was leading him to the Camaro parked almost a block away, out of sight of Chris’ car. Chris wouldn’t know they were leaving.

Stiles turned around and headed toward his Jeep instead, ignoring Derek’s frustrated grunt behind him.

“Stiles, what are you doing?”

“I’m taking my car.”

“Then Chris will follow you.”

“Yeah.”

Pulling open his door, Stiles climbed into the Jeep and slammed it, looking out the rolled down window at Derek in defiance.

Derek squinted at him. “Do you _want_ him to follow you?”

Stiles sighed as the pit in his stomach grew ever deeper. Voice hollow, he said, “I murdered his daughter. Chris can follow me if he wants to.”

He pulled out of the driveway as Derek scowled at him and waited for the SUV’s engine to thrum on. This wasn’t a normal part of his routine and it was sure to cause Chris some alarm, so Stiles made sure to keep him nice and close, letting Derek pass him with the Camaro as a result.

The loft was the same as always from the outside: dull, industrial, slightly abandoned. Stiles left his car next to Derek’s and headed toward the front door. Derek wouldn’t be able to stop him if he just turned around and left for the park, but the note said he’d be at Derek’s, and he wanted to stick to the note.

As soon as he was inside with the door closed, Derek came up to him. “Can I scent you?”

His words were so matter of fact Stiles almost forgot to be weirded out. He’d never heard Derek talk so bluntly about something like that before. As the only born werewolf in their group, he was the odd one out. Stiles had always wondered if Derek was hiding some of his instincts from the bitten wolves, if he was embarrassed or uncomfortable with how different they were from what he was raised around.

 _“If you let me scent you, it’ll calm you down,"_ Malia had said.

Stiles shuddered. “No. We aren’t pack.”

If what Derek said was true, Stiles might not have a pack, but that didn’t mean he wanted to get cuddly with Derek. He was lucky Stiles was even here.

To his surprise, Derek just nodded and backed off.

Stiles looked around at the room with interest. It’d been a long time since he’d gone anywhere but school and his room, so even Derek’s loft was worth investigating.

It’d been rearranged slightly. Now an entertainment center with a television was set up in place of the couch, and the couch had been flipped and pushed to a decent distance from the TV. There was also a bookshelf next to Derek’s massive bed.

Intrigued, Stiles set off for it, keeping his hands tucked into his pockets. The shelves were stuffed full of what looked like old textbooks, histories, some fantasy, and a few books of the supernatural variety that made Stiles salivate.

“When did you get these?” he asked.

“In Mexico, before Peter and I got picked up by the Calaveras. Some of the markets didn’t know what they were selling.” It was relief to hear Derek’s voice farther away, to know he wasn’t going to try and sneak up on Stiles.

After memorizing the titles so he could look them up later, Stiles went over to where Derek was sitting on the couch. “Why am I here?”

Derek blinked at him and looked down at Stiles’ empty hands in surprise. “When you were possessed, the Nogitsune infected me and I tried to burn Chris Argent alive.”

All the air in the room left just when Stiles realized how badly he needed to breathe. He stared at Derek, at the practically serene set to his face, at the absence of claws or fangs that should’ve been there if Derek was planning to seek revenge.

“W—why did you tell me that?” he croaked.

“Because I don’t want anyone to hold that information over you. Especially not Chris.” Derek leaned forward and plucked a remote from the coffee table. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

Stiles’ lack of an answer was taken as a yes, apparently, because Derek pressed a few buttons and soon the opening credits to the most recent Avengers movie were on the screen. He didn’t look back at Stiles, even when Stiles slowly sank down to sit on the arm of the couch.

He was careful not to let himself get too comfortable. It’d been almost forty-eight hours since the last time he slept, and he needed to get home before that could happen. Still, it was nice not to be sitting on his hard desk chair for once. About halfway through the movie Stiles relaxed enough to pull his hands from his pockets, but that was it.

It was nearly over when Derek asked out of the blue, “Do you sleep?”

Stiles knew he shouldn’t have gotten worked up so quickly, but suddenly his face burned. “Don’t ask me stupid questions. If I didn’t sleep I’d be dead.” He’d done the research.

Derek was unperturbed, at least from what Stiles could see. “Okay, when do you sleep?”

There was no reason to answer that. “When my dad isn’t home.” Why did he answer that?

“Will you sleep tonight?”

“Maybe.” Yes, he had to, or he wouldn’t be able to get through class tomorrow.

“Would you sleep here?”

Stiles nearly snarled and stood up. “No.”

“Okay.”

Derek didn’t talk anymore, but Stiles stayed standing for the rest of the movie, eyes twitching between the screen and Derek’s face.

What was he playing at? Stiles barely knew that Derek had been around while he was possessed, let alone that he’d infected Derek and nearly made him commit murder. Where had he gone after it was over? Why wasn’t he angry at Stiles? What the hell was he thinking showing up in Stiles’ room and inviting him over?

It didn’t make sense and neither did Derek’s nearly instant, “Go home” once the movie was over.

Stiles didn’t question it and stormed toward the door, only to freeze when Derek called, “Wait.”

After a moment of silence, Derek appeared at his side with a book in his hand. He held it out to Stiles, revealing that it was one of the rare titles Stiles’d been admiring. _A Lunar World._

“Take it. I’ll come get it when I want it back.”

Half of Stiles wanted to just leave to spite Derek, but the other half desperately wanted to get its hands on that book. Giving in, he snatched the book from Derek’s hand and finished his exit without a word of gratitude. What did it matter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most meaningful ways that Derek shows Stiles support, at least for me, is understanding boundaries. To me, Derek is a background caretaker who knows better than to force you to do things, and just makes sure you know they're options and available. I dunno, that's just how I see him and it sounds like the kind of thing Stiles could really use.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post, I don't have an excuse, I'm just kinda lazy. :) Hope you enjoy!

He got in three hours of sleep that night and spent the rest of it poring over the new book with fascination and a notebook at his side.

It held about a thousand events that were celebrated during different phases of the moon for different species, and he carefully copied every one of them into a file on his computer so they wouldn’t be lost after Derek took the book back.

After only three days, Stiles was done, but Derek still hadn’t shown up. On Monday, a week and two days after the last time he’d spoken to another person, Stiles cracked.

He just wanted to give the damn book back so it would stop staring at him from the corner of his desk. It didn’t have a place in his room so he wanted it gone. Leaving a note, Stiles gave himself thirty minutes for the trip and headed to Derek’s with Chris on his tail.

Stiles didn’t get the chance to knock on the door before Derek was pulling it open and _looking_ at him.

“Can I scent you?” he asked.

Baring his teeth, Stiles pushed the book at him. “No. Here.”

Derek took the book and looked down at it like he was surprised to see it. He turned to the side and gestured. “Come in.”

“No, I need to be back soon.”

That took Derek by surprise, and his head swung up with interest. “Why?”

Stiles shrugged. “I said I would.”

“Oh.” Derek looked at the book again. “Wait here.”

Taking his time, Derek walked across the loft while Stiles watched, and put the book away before plucking another one from the shelf. He walked back just as slowly, and Stiles couldn’t help leaning in through the doorway a little just to speed the process.

“Here.”

 _The Tempters_ was a small leatherbound book that almost fit on Stiles’ hand without spilling over. The pages were weathered around the edges and tinged an old yellow.

This time, Stiles took the book slowly, and managed a quiet, “Thanks” before he fled the building.

For such a small book, it held a _lot_ of information. Entry upon entry about Kelpies, Sirens, Succubi and Incubi, Willow-the-Wisps, anything that lured others to their deaths. Stiles absorbed it like a sponge, but it still took him until the next Saturday to finish with it.

Stiles vibrated with the need to return the book and he didn’t quite know why. There was no guarantee that Derek would give him another once he handed this one back, so why did he want to get over to the loft as soon as he could?

It wasn’t like he could leave anyway. His dad wasn’t working tonight, and Stiles hadn’t left his room since two thirty to avoid running into him. It’d been ages since his dad had a night off: he didn’t want to mess it up. Right now the television was on downstairs with something old playing. After a particularly raucous bout of laughter from one of the characters, Stiles realized his dad was watching M.A.S.H. No, he definitely didn’t want to ruin that.

So he waited until his dad was long gone into the bedroom, and snuck his way downstairs to leave his note. Guilt gripped him as Chris’ lights flashed on in his rearview. It was late and he didn’t actually know when Chris found the time to sleep on the weekends unless he did it in the car. Had Stiles woken him up?

He’d already pulled up to Derek’s loft by the time he realized that he’d probably be waking Derek up too. But, Derek deserved it for not coming to get his book sooner, didn’t he? And for bugging Stiles that first night when it was past midnight. This was just payback.

It turned out Derek wasn’t just a werewolf, he was also a night owl. Again, the door opened before Stiles could knock, and Derek definitely didn’t look like he’d just woken up. On the contrary, he was still completely put together, sans the jacket. There was even a little gel in his hair again.

Shifting from his left to his right foot, Stiles held out the book. “Thanks.”

“Can I scent you?”

Stiles still didn’t know what Derek’s problem was with the scenting thing but, for once, he was tempted. He’d spent the whole afternoon listening to his dad putter around the house, watching his feet pass Stiles’ door again and again without stopping for even a second. Like he didn’t even exist. No one else even wanted to look at him and here Derek was asking to leave his scent on Stiles’ skin.

He hesitated, but shook his head. “N—no.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Can I touch you?”

It was late. Stiles should have left. But he’d given himself a whole hour in his note, for God knew what reason, and Derek wasn’t trying to make him leave. “Yeah.”

Immediately, Derek reached out and took Stiles’ wrist in a loose grip. Stiles pulled away on instinct, then shook himself and held it out again. “Sorry.”

Derek shrugged and took it, not rubbing or scenting at all. “Want to watch a movie?”

“I have to be home in less than an hour.”

“An episode of something, then.”

When Stiles didn’t respond, Derek just tugged him over to the couch and picked up the remote. “How do you feel about zombies?”

The damn door was still open, but Stiles was getting used to the feeling of Derek’s fingers on his wrist. He didn’t actually want to move away. Sighing, he perched lightly on the cushion next to Derek. “Sure.”

As the first episode of a show popped up, Stiles blinked. “That’s not what I expected.”

“I know.”

 _IZombie_ wasn’t actually bad. Neither was the loose grip Derek kept on Stiles throughout the show.

There was no book exchange before he left, but Stiles’ wrist tingled the whole way to his car. The next afternoon, he found himself sitting in the Jeep with a three hour window written onto the board. He didn’t turn the car on.

Stiles didn’t actually have a reason to go to Derek’s. There was no book to return. He just…wanted to go. But if Derek wasn’t lending him a book, then he wasn’t expecting Stiles to show up. If he’d been up that late the night before, what if he was in bed now? Stiles didn’t really want to get payback anymore. He just wanted…something.

His fingers twitched as he pulled out his phone, but autocorrect saved him as he tapped out a message.

_Can I come over?_

Almost instantly his phone buzzed with his first message in almost two months.

**Yeah.**

The door was open by the time he got up to Derek’s floor, but Derek wasn’t at it. Hesitating for a second, Stiles took slow steps into Derek’s loft and looked around. What if something was wrong?

“Chinese?”

Stiles snapped his head toward Derek’s voice. He was coming down the stairs with two steaming plates in his hands.

Sniffing the air a little, Stiles closed the door and nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Can I scent—”

“Yeah.”

What the hell? If Derek was just going to keep asking, why shouldn’t Stiles let him? It wasn’t like there was anybody else trying to take the job.

Stiles blamed werewolf speed on how quickly the plates ended up on the coffee table, then he wasn’t really focused on speedy Chinese because Derek had him boxed against the door.

He didn’t touch Stiles, not properly. Derek leaned in to Stiles’ neck and the very tip of his nose traced a line down over Stiles’ heartbeat. Just like that, it was over and Derek was back at the couch sitting down and picking up his plate.

It was good Chinese food, even if Stiles did fumble with the chopsticks a couple times. They didn’t talk while they ate, but it was still the most comfortable Stiles had been in a while.

Like he was reading from a script, as soon as Derek put his plate down again he picked up the remote. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Do you only have like three lines in your repertoire now? I thought we’d gotten past that,” Stiles said, even as he leaned back into the cushion. He’d slept three hours the night before, so passing out wasn’t likely. The couch was springy underneath him and when he pulled his feet up to cross his legs, Stiles tipped sideways a little, ending up with his whole side pressed against Derek. The shock of it left Stiles breathless, and he waited for a reaction.

“I have more than you do, lately,” Derek just shot back, propping one foot on the table and completely disregarding Stiles’ closeness. “You pick.”

He handed the remote over, and Stiles thumbed through the different services Derek was paying for. It was kind of an insane number, but seeing as Derek was apparently rich, Stiles didn’t push it. His eye caught on one title in particular and he didn’t think about it before picking it.

Derek actually groaned. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey, fuck you, Star Wars is the _best_. Everyone knows that. Well, except for Sc—” Stiles choked and went silent.

The last two weeks, Stiles had barely even been thinking about him. Instead, he’d been wrapped up in the books Derek gave him and actually being around Derek. Talking to someone again. Being talked _to_.

Something warm bumped Stiles’ limp hand on the cushion and he looked down to see Derek’s fingers next to his. “Can I touch you?” Derek asked, softer than usual.

“Yeah, okay.”

Slowly, Derek’s hand came up over Stiles’, not really holding it, but covering the back and part of his wrist with the steady warmth of his palm and fingers.

By the end of the night Stiles had a new book to look at. _Packs and Unkindnesses_. The title was immensely deceiving, since it wasn’t actually about pack wars or anything. In reality, the book was about ravens, whose plural was an unkindness, and their relationship to both normal wolves and werewolves. Whereas Stiles had always considered ravens to be death omens, they were actually good luck charms for werewolves.

Stiles tried to go at a more leisurely pace through the book. He’d already bothered Derek plenty and, though he’d never admit it, the scenting thing was a bit out of his depth. He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to smell like Derek. Even after all they’d been through, he’d never been close with Derek. What they had was just an alliance most of the time; an agreement not to kill each other before they could kill their shared enemy.

Still, that meant they needed to trust each other, and Stiles did. Derek had saved his life too many times not to be worth trusting. From Peter, and Jackson, Chris, and even Isaac. Half of those were people Derek had every right to protect instead of Stiles, but Derek hadn’t let them hurt him. When Derek had scented him, it’d made him feel just as safe as when Derek was standing between him and an attacker. It felt like something important that Stiles felt _safe_ with Derek.

A week and a half later, Stiles stumbled up to Derek’s loft. He was _tired_ and fucking sad. Days had been passing without him actually paying attention, but that morning his phone had buzzed. He’d barely registered it until the third buzz when he’d realized it was an event alarm.

His birthday. Today was his goddamn, fucking, eighteenth birthday.

Stiles had been keeping up with his dad’s schedule with access to his work account. Today he worked a double shift. Pathetically hopeful, he’d wandered down to the living room and sat on the couch for a few hours anyway, listening for the sound of his dad, Scott, _anyone_ coming up the walk and staring at the dark screen of his phone. Needless to say, he’d finally given up.

The weight of the world left Stiles slumped and hazy. Three days awake was too many. He’d been planning to get his hours of sleep in while his dad was at work but now being alone felt like the worst possible thing.

“Stiles?”

The world jerked back to brightness and Stiles locked his knees together. He’d been falling asleep against the wall. “Hey.”

“Can I—”

“Yeah.”

Warm hands reached for Stiles’ shoulders and pulled him in. There was Derek’s nose, drawing a slow, curvy line all the way down to Stiles’ clavicle. It was beyond nice, and Stiles sighed.

“Can—”

“Yup.”

He hadn’t been expecting to be picked up, but Stiles didn’t complain even though he got a little dizzy at how the world shifted. This was okay, Derek wouldn’t drop him on his birthday. Happy birthday to him, happy birthday to him…

Derek patted his cheek. “Hey, wake up. Are you humming?”

Stiles worked really hard and blinked his eyes open. “Yes, yes I am.” He was on the uber soft couch, tucked into the corner next to the armrest with Derek leaning over him. “I’m allowed to hum on my birthday.”

If he concentrated, he could see a pained squint on Derek’s face. Unfortunately, concentration was exhausting and Stiles was running on fumes. The fact that he’d gotten the Jeep here in one piece was a miracle.

“Jesus Christ, Stiles. Tell me it’s not your birthday.”

“It’s n…ugh, too tired.”

Stiles hummed again as his eyes fell shut, relishing the contact of Derek’s fingers on his jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, I know that I'm kind of cheating by not having the other characters actually be in the scenes, but this is primarily a Stiles/Derek fic, and they're who I want to focus in on.  
> Also, I know "IZombie" is from after the timeline that Teen Wolf is in, but humor me. It's a good ass show, and I think that Derek would find it kinda hilarious.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter, but a little more intense as well. As we well know, bad things happen when Stiles falls asleep these days.

_The squelch of tearing flesh as they twisted the blade in the wolf’s stomach was music to their ears. Finally, a little revenge for this nosy wolf stealing all of their chaos. Wolves were such good toys, able to last so long under the knife before giving out. A buffet of agony and terror, sweet as honey on their tongue._

  
_Screams became a symphony when they padded down the hospital hall. They could feel every pop and flicker of the lights and soaked in the waves of confusion and fear rushing out of all the bodies they passed. These new toys, the Oni, were fun. Their only complaint was how quickly they were finishing off their meals. No patience. Still, the sheer number of victims was more than enough to make up for it. They were feasting now, growing more powerful than they’d been in centuries._

  
_She was their own little canary in the coal mine, a warning to let them know when the ragtag group of muts was close, and a meal to keep them full until then. However strong she tried to be, they could still feel her fear, still taste the betrayal she felt every time she looked in their eyes and couldn’t find what she was looking for. Banshees were perfect for long distance feeding and they waited as the power in her built. Soon, soon. It would be glorious for them to behold. He thought they were separate now? No, as long as they shared a face, they were one and they would feel the kill together. Then, finally, even though they weren’t with her and he’d stolen her away, they could feel it as the pain burst from her in a long scream._

  
“ _Allison!_ ” Stiles shot up, arms flailing as he shouted. He couldn’t see her, but the shock of his heart knew she was dying and he screamed again until the pain in his throat screamed back.

  
Arms clamped around Stiles’ chest, pinning him back as he reached out. They were like iron, not flinching even when Stiles ripped at them with his fingernails. He had to go, had to get out. He had to save her. “Allison!”

  
There was light coming back to his eyes, fading in along with the sound of the ocean. Someone was holding him, shushing him like waves over rocks. A hot face was pressed into his neck from behind, lips vibrating against his skin.

  
He didn’t have the energy to break away, nor the voice to scream anymore, so he cracked and collapsed while tears streamed down his cheeks. Bawling into Derek’s shoulder, Stiles couldn’t comprehend the idea of being embarrassed, even when Derek’s grip shifted and lifted Stiles from the couch. There were a few moments of weightlessness before Stiles was laid out on a much bigger seat.

  
Wailing made his head hurt, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop and he let his body spasm with sobs until the lurching of his stomach made him gag. Before he could get a hand over his mouth, he was being held over the edge of the bed with his face above a trash can. Stiles heaved up everything in his stomach while visions of flesh and blood and bone flashed behind his eyelids and a hand stroked up and down his spine.  
It was incongruous to feel such tenderness while his mind replayed so much violence but, as the last of his heaving turned dry, Stiles didn’t have the energy to push it away. It stopped eventually, replaced by a bottle of water being pressed to his lips. Obediently, Stiles took a sip and swished, spitting it down into the trash can. He repeated the process one more time before actually swallowing any of it.

  
His shirt was soaked with sweat, along with his hair, like someone had dumped him back into that tub of ice water. He was grateful when it was pulled up over his head and replaced by a warm, thick blanket and an even warmer body curled around his back.

  
Unable to move, wrapped in warmth, and completely cried out, Stiles didn’t even want to breathe in case it disturbed the semblance of peace he was feeling. But he had to know.

  
“Why don’t you hate me?”

  
It was barely a whisper, with Stiles’ throat too wrecked to make more than a squeak, but it was enough for Derek to hear. His careful huffs of breath into the back of Stiles’ neck felt like redemption when they formed the words, “I know what it’s like to watch your body do horrible things without your consent.”

  
Stiles curled his chin down another inch toward his chest. “But I remember _liking_ it.”

  
“So do I.”

  
There was silence as Stiles tried to cope with what he’d heard, then Derek continued. “When an Alpha bites someone, it’s a rush. The prospect of new pack, of making your own pack stronger. It’s biological. No matter how much I hated biting Gerard, it felt good. And Boyd…” His voice faltered. “Deucalion wasn’t wrong about how powerful it makes you feel. I was so much stronger in that moment. I hate myself every day for thinking about how much I liked that feeling, even if I’d give anything to take it back.”

  
Stiles nodded, too strung out to respond. He could smell his sick and sweat in the air, but at least here he was safe. His eyes slipped shut before he could think to stop them, and Stiles let the anchor of Derek’s body next to his pull him down to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a little early today as it's the end of the school year and I'm leaving for home tomorrow. I started packing like an hour ago. He he. XD

His skin was tacky, sticking to the sheets below him and the blanket above him when he tried to roll over. Grimacing, Stiles reached up to rub at his eye and blinked them open. He was in a bed. In Derek’s bed.

Sitting up, Stiles looked around him. He’d never seen the loft from this angle before and it took a second for it to click into place. The trash can from before was gone, along with Derek. The sun was low now, which didn’t make sense. Stiles had driven to Derek’s at eleven in the morning, how was the sun setting?

“Derek?” he rasped.

The stairs creaked, revealing Derek step by step as he descended, a bottle of water in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. He came up to the bed with soft footsteps and kneeled at its edge, holding out the food and drink. “You’re awake.”

Stiles huffed and took the offerings, sipping slowly at the cool water to ease his aching throat. “That I am.” He frowned at the plain toast, but Derek was still hovering so he took a small bite.

Even after he’d eaten half the slice and drank a third of the water, Derek still didn’t move. He was watching Stiles with apprehension that riled him in the worst way until he caught on to what the small twitches of Derek’s hands were implying. Setting the edibles on the nightstand, Stiles grimaced again and held his arms out a little. God, he stank.

“Go for it.”

He was divebombed back onto the mattress with Derek’s face pressed hard into his neck and shoulder. Much more aggressively than before, Derek rubbed his entire jaw up and down Stiles’ neck, leaving a tingling sensation with his stubble that nearly had Stiles squirming. Then, he tilted Stiles’ head the other way and did it to the opposite side.

For reasons unknown, this side of Stiles’ neck was somehow more sensitive, and Derek had barely made it halfway up to his ear when Stiles outright giggled. Above him, Derek froze, before very slowly and purposefully dipping down to rub his chin against the exact same spot.

Stiles squealed and shoved at his shoulders, but Derek didn’t go. Relentless, he dragged his stubble over Stiles’ entire collarbone and down his chest while Stiles shouted and laughed. He hadn’t laughed in…but Derek’s fingers had joined in the torture, twitching up his ribs to make Stiles wriggle.

“Gross! Derek, I smell awful, get off me,” Stiles gasped in between peals of giggles.

Derek looked up at him from where he was nuzzling into Stiles’ belly, grinning widely. “Happy birthday, Stiles.”

Finally free of the overwhelming ticklishness of Derek’s stubble, Stiles sighed. “Thanks. How long did I sleep?”

“About eight hours.”

Stiles jerked up, accidentally knocking Derek’s cheek down onto his thigh over the covers. “What?”

Seemingly content with his new position, Derek dropped the rest of his body onto the bed and pushed his nose into Stiles’ leg. “From the time you collapsed on the couch to when you woke up, three hours. Then when you fell asleep again you were practically comatose for the last five. It’s a little past seven.”

“I’m late. Derek, I’m late.” Stiles dug his fingers through Derek’s hair just the once, trying to show that he wasn’t throwing Derek off, then he wiggled backwards and kicked his feet off the side of the bed. “I was supposed to be back two hours ago.”

His shoes were missing, and so was his shirt. When did his clothes come off? Right, after his nightmare. Where were they now? What if his dad had come home early? What if they were looking for him?

“Stiles,” Derek said, holding his shoulders. “It’s okay. I’ll take you home. Calm down.”

Derek leaned into Stiles again for another, softer, scenting and against Stiles’ better judgement, he relaxed. Sitting on Derek’s bed, Stiles waited patiently while Derek grabbed a bag for his dirty shirt and tossed one of his own at Stiles’ head. His shoes were returned to him, but Stiles had to swat Derek’s hands away when he tried to help Stiles actually put them on.

At the last minute, Derek pushed the toast and drink back into Stiles’ hands and eyed him until he took another long-suffering bite of the now nearly cold bread.

He didn’t question Derek’s hand on the small of his back on the way to the parking lot, or the little push he got toward the Camaro instead of his Jeep. As he buckled himself up in the passenger seat, Derek turned to him.

“Chris is asleep at the wheel. Do you want me to wake him up?” he asked.

Stiles looked out the window at his shadow for the last two months. “No, let him sleep.”

The streets looked a little more detailed as they drove to Stiles’ house. The trees had a few extra leaves, and the signs were easier to read than Stiles remembered. Getting a full eight hours of sleep had done wonders for his eyes.

The Camaro was a lot less rumbly than the Jeep, more like a soothing vibration than a rollercoaster of crappy shocks. Stiles was still a little dazed from getting up, so he didn’t fight the pull of gravity when he started tilting to the left. Soon his head hit warm leather.

“Why’d you come see me?” Stiles sighed. “I’m grateful, cus’ this is the best I’ve felt in forever, but I don’t get why.”

Derek’s hand reached over to grasp Stiles’ wrist, smoothing his index finger over his pulse. “I was worried. Before I lost my Alpha spark, I’d considered you pack for a long time. I would have come sooner, but I didn’t know you were—I didn’t know they’d abandoned you.”

It hurt to hear the words so bluntly, but Stiles sought his comfort from Derek’s shoulder, rubbing his forehead against it. “You’re my pack,” he admitted.

His dad wasn’t home yet, but Stiles didn’t relax completely until they were inside the house with the door shut.

“Wait, have you ever actually used my front door before?”

Derek grunted and bumped Stiles with his shoulder. “No, I prefer direct access to pack.”

Ignoring the warmth at hearing Derek return the earlier sentiment, Stiles waved an arm out. “Well then, grand tour, coming right up.”

He led Derek through the house, pointing out innocuous pieces of furniture with all the grandeur of a museum guide until Derek cuffed him on the back of the head and shoved him toward the stairs, citing that the smell was finally getting to him.

In the shower, Stiles scrubbed roughly at his skin until it was pink, wiping away the memories of the nightmare and sudsing his hair until it squeaked. After a good brushing of his teeth and taking a dose of Adderall, Stiles felt refreshed down to his toes. He got all the way back to his room before thinking to wipe the steam off the mirror, but forgot about it again at the sight of Derek curled up on his bed like a cat, the shirt Stiles’d worn on the way there tucked up against his stomach.

“I wasn’t gone that long, was I?” Stiles only had a towel on again, but he still wasn’t feeling any jitters about Derek seeing him half naked.

He caught the shirt when it was thrown and laughed when Derek grumbled, “Just put it on.”

Obliging with one hand holding up his towel was going to be difficult, so Stiles took it over to his dresser and grabbed out underwear and a pair of pajama pants. “Doesn’t it smell all gross now?”

“You weren’t wearing it long enough for that. It just smells like me.”

Stiles shrugged and muttered, “Possessive,” right before he dropped the towel. As he pulled on loose pair of boxers for lounging, Stiles couldn’t help glancing over at Derek. There’d been no shifting of the bed to indicate Derek looking away like before. But apparently that was because he’d stood up altogether and gone over to the window.

“Chris woke up.”

Sure enough, Stiles’ ears soon picked up the squealing of car tires down the street. Scrambling to put the rest of his clothes on, Stiles darted across the room to lean over Derek’s shoulder.

Chris’ car slammed to a stop across the street and the door opened without the car turning off. He looked nearly crazed, with a long overgrown beard and his jacket bunched all to hell around his shoulders. The semi-automatic in his hand wasn’t remotely hidden, glinting in last dregs of sunlight as he stormed across the street.

Derek growled at his first step on Stiles’ walkup, making Chris jerk to a halt. Stiles didn’t have to look at Derek to know he was at least partly shifted, but he did sneak an arm around Derek’s waist. Not holding him back, because Stiles could never manage that, but letting him know he was needed more at Stiles’ side.

From Stiles’ window, Derek intimidated Chris into a retreat, growling long and low until the man and the gun disappeared back into the car.

“Hey,” Stiles whispered, “it’s okay. We’re good.”

Slowly, the tension drained from Derek’s shoulders and he let Stiles pull him back to the bed. There was no way Stiles was going to get back to sleep, but he was content to let Derek cuddle him into the unused comforter. A few minutes in, he got up the courage to try petting his fingers through Derek’s hair again. It felt good to do something back, especially when it made Derek practically purr.

“Hey, so, is this what you guys are actually like? Born werewolves, anyway?”

Derek buried the lower half of his face almost into Stiles’ armpit, peering up at him. “My family was. We never stopped touching, scenting each other. It was normal.”

“Oh. Did you do other stuff I don’t know about? Pack stuff?”

Another snuffle that Stiles tried not to squirm away from, then, “My mom did. As the Alpha. Just to remind us that we belonged.”

Now Stiles did squirm, if only to scuttle a little closer. “So,” he hummed, keeping his voice level. “Would you do it to me? I mean, I don’t wanna miss out on any pack stuff.”

Derek lifted his head up finally, brows furrowed. “But...I’m not an Alpha.”

“But you’re my pack. Please?”

The frown Derek sported made Stiles sag a little, but he just muttered, “Stay still.”

At a glacial speed, Derek leaned forward and opened his mouth, letting his fangs grow out. Once he was too close for Stiles to see what he was going to do without turning his head, Stiles lifted his eyes to the ceiling. A couple sharp points settled against the ridge of his jaw and Stiles tried not to shudder. His face was hot after the first couple seconds, spreading down to his feet by the time the teeth carefully biting him had gone back to human.

With a huff, Stiles let out the tension he’d picked up in a rush. “Your mom did that to you?”

“Only when she was  _ really _ trying to make a point. The rest of the time it was just a kiss in the same spot.”

“Oh. Do you want to watch something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit of a transitional chapter, but god, I just love seeing Stiles feel better after things go to shit.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, next chapter up. Finally, the part you've all been waiting for. Or at least, the part I've been waiting for.

Stiles gave up on even pretending that Derek’s loft wasn’t where he wanted to be after that. At some point after his birthday, Stiles wrote a note to let his dad know he was going to Derek’s, and he didn’t bother adding a return time.

In a single trip, everything Stiles actually cared about was in his duffel, a single box, and his backpack. His books fit neatly onto a new bookshelf that appeared in Derek’s loft the same day Stiles arrived, and everything else spread itself throughout the loft.

He stopped trying to keep everything clean when he realized that Derek didn’t actually like things that way. Derek grumbled if Stiles washed the sheets on the bed too often, and the one time he tried to bring in an air freshener to make up for the lack of windows that actually opened, Derek threw it away. So, Stiles kept the dishes and the bathroom clean and left Derek to decide when things actually needed washing.

It was easier to sleep through the night with Derek next to him, but it didn’t stop the nightmares completely. They started to keep a bottle of mouthwash next to the bed, along with the trashcan and a box of tissues.

Stiles felt safe, for once. The same intense presence that’d made him shy away from Derek when they first met drew him close now that he knew Derek only used it for good, creating a buffer of space around Stiles when they were in public.

It took exactly one morning where the Jeep wouldn’t start for Derek to pop the hood, and three days later it was in the best condition Stiles had ever seen it.

Derek stopped asking permission to scent Stiles, choosing instead to find the most distracting moments possible to sidle up and tickle Stiles’ skin with his stubble. Sometimes Stiles let him scent and cuddle for hours at a time until they fell asleep. He liked the close contact with Derek and getting scented was starting to make more sense to him. Everywhere Stiles went, he knew he had Derek to go back to by the scent he carried. Even when the Jeep was fixed and Stiles went for his normal run in Centennial Park, he could practically feel Derek’s reminder that Stiles was pack on his skin. It made it a lot less painful to see Scott and Lydia and even Isaac in school.

They’d stopped avoiding him, but Stiles realized quickly it wasn’t because they actually wanted to talk to him. They just couldn’t find him anymore. He watched them twitch their noses in the halls that he’d just passed, but they called out Derek’s name instead. Malia was the only one who still knew it was him, and each time she caught his scent she barrelled the opposite direction.

Three months into living at Derek’s, Stiles saw it as home. School was almost out for the summer, and then he’d lined up a part time job at the local nursery to keep himself busy. It made Derek deliriously happy every time he mentioned it.

“It’s good to see you leaving the house,” he explained during a heady scenting session.

Stiles just tilted his head a little more and sighed. “It’s fun, you should try it some time.”

“What?”

“Leaving the house.”

Derek growled and nipped at Stiles’ neck, making Stiles gasp. Next to him, Derek froze. “Sorry.”

Scenting was a bonding time, as if Stiles wasn’t bonding with Derek every other hour they spent together, but they usually followed a pretty clear pattern by now, and Derek had never bitten him before.

Taking a moment to really think, Stiles sank a little further into Derek’s stiff embrace. “I’m not complaining.”

Tentatively, Derek did it again. This time, Stiles sighed lowly.

“Stiles?”

“Hm?”

“Will you scent me?”

Stiles sat up straight and watched Derek with wide eyes. “Would that even work, since I’m human?”

Derek laughed at him, shifting to sit properly on the couch. “Of course it would work. There’s nothing special about the way a werewolf scents people compared to humans. We’re just the ones who know what it means.”

“I don’t know how.”

Used to being manhandled by now, Stiles let Derek pull him close until Stiles slipped a knee over Derek’s lap and straddled his legs. Tipping forward, Derek rubbed his temple on Stiles’ cheekbone. “Yeah, you do.”

“Yeah, I do, don’t I?” After four months of getting scented by Derek, Stiles had a pretty good idea how it was supposed to go. He couldn’t deny that the idea of Derek smelling just as much like Stiles as Stiles did him was a little _too_ appealing. Knowing that everywhere _Derek_ went, he would be carrying Stiles on his skin.

With probably a little too much enthusiasm, Stiles ducked his head into Derek’s neck and politely ignored the soft groan Derek let out as he bared the long span of his neck for probably his first scenting in _years_. He started with the tip of his nose, the same way Derek had, dragging it up and down before dipping it into the hollow of Derek’s collarbone. Shuffling closer, Stiles put a hand on the side he hadn’t gotten to yet and did his best to press his scent in that way until he was ready to switch sides. Nuzzling was second nature with Derek around, so Stiles put it to good use, letting his lips catch on the curve of Derek’s shoulder and the cords of muscle running up his throat.

He hummed when he was ready to switch and used a finger to push Derek’s jaw to the other side. At the first touch of his nose to the fresh skin, a punched out whine from Derek set Stiles’ nerves on fire. He paused on instinct, lifting his head to look at Derek’s face properly.

Derek was panting and somehow Stiles hadn’t noticed. With his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth half open, Stiles couldn’t stop staring. His voice was hoarse as he whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Please don’t stop,” Derek groaned, and his hips bucked up against Stiles’ involuntarily.

The bulge in Derek’s jeans was obvious and insistent against Stiles’ own crotch. Stiles had gotten used to low level arousal around Derek pretty quickly, not sure where the line was between pack and anything more. He was pretty sure he’d found it now, and that Derek was perfectly happy to cross it. Testing, Stiles rolled his hips down.

“S _tiles_.”

Stiles went back to work, giving in to the nips and kisses and licks he’d been refraining from before and drowning in the noises Derek made as he grasped Stiles closer, pulling him down into a slow, dirty grind of their hips.

It didn’t take long to get with the program and soon Stiles was moaning along with Derek, biting down a little harder than he probably should at a particularly sweet movement of Derek’s hips. Derek’s skin was hot under his mouth, the pounding of his heart strong enough for Stiles to feel it through his lips. The salty tang of clean sweat was enough to send him reeling back up to the space behind Derek’s ear with his tongue and pull the earlobe between his teeth for a quick nip that made Derek whimper beneath him.

Derek was long gone on pleasure by the time Stiles bothered to put his hands anywhere below Derek’s shoulders, but he didn’t hesitate to yank his shirt up and over his head at the first press of Stiles’ fingers into his abdomen. “Please, _please_. _Stiles_.”

Not sure what Derek was asking for, Stiles traced his way up Derek’s chest and rolled his hips a little harder, satisfied with the way Derek’s moan stopped midway to give his jaw a chance to drop.

He was in the middle of sucking a hopelessly temporary hickey into the soft meat of Derek’s shoulder when Derek stiffened up around him. Instinctively, Stiles bit down at the same time as his hips ground into Derek’s erection.

“St— _oh_.” Derek’s head fell back as his eyebrows scrunched together almost the same way as when he was confused, but with his lips shaped into an eroticly silent cry. He twitched hard in Stiles’ arms for what felt like forever before seeming to come back to life with a heavy pant.

Come-drunk hands fumbled with the button on Stiles’ jeans, and he reached down to help get the zipper lowered safely before Derek shoved the strap of his underwear down and pulled Stiles’ cock out of its confines.

He stroked Stiles quickly and lightly, taking his turn with dragging Stiles in to mouth at his neck and _actually_ mark Stiles up. The whole time he growled and panted in Stiles’ ear until Stiles had to stifle his moans in the couch behind Derek, squeezing helplessly at Derek’s biceps as he held on for dear life.

Sharp points dug carefully into Stiles’ jaw for a second before they turned dull and bit down harder. Whining, Stiles let static zap up his spine as he spent himself over Derek’s bare chest and abdomen.

Clean up was forgone in favor of Stiles just breathing into Derek’s neck and listening to Derek breathe in return. His shirt was officially glued to Derek’s chest, but if Derek wasn’t making noises about moving, Stiles didn’t care.

“Aw, man,” he muttered.

“Not the response I was looking for,” Derek chuckled.

Stiles used all his energy to lift his head and give Derek a feeble glare. “I didn’t even get to kiss you yet.”

That problem was solved right away, as Derek pressed a bruisingly firm kiss to his lips and licked his way into Stiles’ mouth. “How are you not satisfied with how I smell yet?” Stiles groaned, only half confused as he returned the kiss with as much enthusiasm as he could muster post-orgasm.

“You smell fine, but I want you to taste like me too,” Derek growled. He dipped his tongue back in to brush against Stiles’ and licked the roof of his mouth. It was weird, and shouldn’t have been hot, but Stiles shuddered anyway.

“Possessive Alpha,” Stiles grumbled happily.

Derek jerked away and Stiles whined at the loss. They’d only just gotten started, right? Blinking, Derek frowned. “I’m not an Alpha.”

Stiles met his gaze solemnly. “You’re mine.”

The world shifted around him when Derek’s grip on his thighs tightened, and in moments Stiles found himself flat on his back with Derek’s flashing blue eyes and fangs hovering over him.

“And you are _mine_.”

Their lines meant two very different things, but Stiles wasn’t about to argue semantics when Derek was yanking Stiles’ dirty shirt off his body and growling promises into his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go, I doubt this is going to end the way you all want, but I can't bring myself not to enjoy what I've written. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is it always the last chapter that I totally space on posting?? Anyway, sorry for the wait. I hope this ending is the kind of thing you guys were hoping for. Thanks so much for all the love and support!

Stiles woke from a heavy post-nightmare sleep to a hand over his mouth. Blinking away the darkness, he looked up at Derek’s glowing eyes and nodded his understanding. Derek moved his hand away and reached over the bed to grab a pair of sweatpants that he dropped on Stiles’ lap before standing to put his own on. They hadn’t fallen asleep with underwear on, but Stiles barely got the elastic of his pants up over his hips before there was a pounding on the front door, so he didn’t worry about going commando.

At Derek’s brush of a hand, Stiles backed into a corner out of sight of the front door and let Derek answer it. He was grateful for the cover as soon as the door slid open because the rush of a familiar voice nearly sent him to his knees.

“Hey, Derek. We need a favor.” That was _Scott’s_ voice.

The door creaked a little, and the light from the hall grew wider, with Derek’s shadow stretched down the middle of it. Stiles focused on the strength in Derek’s form and breathed ever so slowly.

“I’m busy, Scott. Take your pack and leave.”

A hand stretched into the light, pushing the door open more. Scott huffed. “It won’t take long. Besides, what are you busy with in the middle of the—” There was an exaggerated sniff. “ _Oh_. Wow. You got yourself a girlfriend, nice job, dude. Does she, you know, know?”

“Scott,” whispered another person. Was that Malia?

“One sec, Mal. Derek? This is kinda sensitive stuff. Is it safe to talk? It’s about Stiles.”

Stiles shifted from one foot to the other. It was a little jarring to hear Scott say his name. It used to sound so familial, but now the word was foreign on Scott’s lips.

The grit of Derek’s teeth was clear as he said, “What about Stiles?”

“ _Scott,_ ” came Malia’s voice again.

Scott clearly ignored her and he stepped into the room, his shadow looming up next to Derek’s in Stiles’ limited view. “Well he’s kind of gone missing again. His dad messaged me a couple hours ago about his room being empty, but when we went over there we could barely smell _anything_. I thought since you were able to track him so well last time, you could do it again?”

“His dad has _no idea_ where he would have gone?” Derek growled. “Stiles didn’t leave a _note_ , or anything?”

Derek had been there while Stiles wrote the note on the board, holding Stiles’ book box and smiling like the rising sun. They’d gone out for ice cream on the one month anniversary of Stiles writing that note.

“No, nothing. But Stiles’ been pretty absent since, you know. I mean, I knew he was skipping school and stuff…” Scott trailed off with a sigh. “So will you help us find him? I mean, someone’s gotta make sure he gets back where he belongs so we can keep an eye on him, you know?”

The crisp cut of Lydia’s voice was like a knife to Stiles’ chest. “Where did you get that bag?” Stiles’ eyes darted over to the couch, where his backpack was waiting to be put away for the summer.

“Scott! Would you listen to me?” Malia snapped.

Finally, Derek held a hand out, and Stiles stepped around the corner to take it. He didn’t look toward the hall right away, letting Derek’s presence smooth his ruffled nerves and tilting his neck to let Derek nose him gently and cover his fear scent with Derek’s own.

The nip to his jaw was unexpected, but Stiles leaned into it, feeling the claim in his bones.

It didn’t hurt as much as he’d thought it would to look at them all crowded around Scott. It was actually kind of flattering that he’d gathered his whole pack to go looking for Stiles. Or maybe it was terrifying.

“Stiles? Holy shit, what are you doing here? Your dad’s been looking everywhere,” Scott cried, reaching forward. “We gotta get you home.”

Derek stepped between them before Scott could get a hand on Stiles. “He _is_ home.”

Even now, with his face hidden behind Derek’s shoulder, Stiles could imagine the utter confusion on Scott’s face. He pushed Derek lightly back to his side so he could see, and the image he saw was a perfect match.

Malia lost her patience with a snarl. “ _Scott_ , Stiles and Derek are mates.”

Stiles actually laughed a little at the term. “People don’t _mate_ , Malia.”

Derek’s arm around Stiles tightened. “Malia Tate?”

For the first time, Stiles saw Malia look actually frightened. She ducked her head down and slumped her shoulders, backing away from the group just enough for Isaac to catch her. “Yeah.”

The soft rumble of Derek’s chest was barely noticeable, but Stiles elbowed him anyway. “Possessive Alpha much?”

He grinned viciously when Derek’s eyes shot to his. It never failed to get Derek going. PDA had never been something Derek was into, but now he swooped Stiles up into a deep, filthy kiss that Stiles couldn’t help returning even with their company. They’d clearly spent too much time alone together.

“Hey! What the fuck?” Scott shouted.

Ignoring Derek’s snarl, Stiles pulled his lips out of Derek’s reach. “What, Scott? After half a year of silence, what the _fuck_ do you want?”

“How about an explanation? Since when is Derek an Alpha again? Since when are you two together? What the hell is going on with you?”

Derek’s fingers spasmed on Stiles’ hip. “Not a single part of that is any of your business, Scott. I told you to leave.”

Scott growled sharply, “It _is_ my business if you killed someone just to get back your Alpha status. And so is Stiles. He’s my brother, he’s my respons—”

“No I’m not,” Stiles interrupted. He pulled away from Derek and stepped into the middle ground between their two groups. “Scott, I’m not your brother. I’m not your anything, anymore. You, _all_ of you, abandoned me six months ago. You ran from me in the halls at school, refused to answer my texts. So did my dad. I moved out of that house a week after my eighteenth birthday—which no one in my goddamn life bothered to remember—and have been living with Derek ever since. As for ‘skipping school,’ I’ve only missed two days this semester, and one of those was for my anniversary with Derek. So no, I’m not your brother. You are _nothing_ to me. You’re not my Alpha, my brother, my friend, or even my ally. Derek is, and always will be, my Alpha. Now, I want you to leave.”

The soft touch of Derek’s hand on Stiles’ back had him stumbling backward into Derek’s chest, lungs heaving from venting every poison he’d been holding inside for months.

Isaac spoke quietly, eyes golden. “Derek, are you really an Alpha again?”

In response, Derek flashed his eyes a bright red. Stiles’ heart nearly burst at the ease in his shift, the comfort in his strength.

“How?” Isaac asked.

Stiles glared over at Scott. “Derek is a True Alpha.”

Malia looked starstruck, but Lydia shook her head. “Not possible. Werewolves with blue eyes can’t be True Alphas.”

“Of course they can,” Stiles snarled. “Blue eyes mean nothing. They’re just a symbol of the guilt the owner carries. Any wolf can be a True Alpha.”

Scott crossed his arms. “Deaton would have told us if that were possible. True Alphas wouldn’t be rare.”

“Deaton fucking lied, Scott!” Stiles threw his hands up and went over to the bookshelf, grabbing the last of Derek’s market finds and bringing it back with the title held high. _The Alpha Spark_. “Deaton told you that you were special because he wanted to control you. He told Derek that the only possible way to survive was by believing in you and and following you. The only reason you’re a True Alpha is because I believed you were.”

Flipping through the pages, Stiles skimmed until he found the right passage. “Do you know how a True Alpha is made? Huh? Sheer force of will was what Deaton said, right? Well, he wasn’t talking about _you_. ‘ _It is possible for any wolf to gain or lose the Alpha spark without injuring or submitting to another Alpha. The process of gaining the spark this way creates what is known in legends as a_ True Alpha _. The Alpha spark is created by belief in the ability of the wolf, not only by themselves, but by their pack. A Beta who truly believes he is an Alpha will become one, if his pack believes it as well._ ’ The only reason blue-eyed wolves are less likely to become True Alphas is because of their own lack of belief in themselves and everyone _else’s_ prejudice.”

He continued, not giving Scott a chance to argue. “The only person who was truly a part of your pack when you became an Alpha was me. Isaac was still hoping to make things work with Derek, and Allison doesn’t count. She never saw you as a werewolf, she saw you as her boyfriend. _I’m_ the one who thought you were Alpha material. I thought you meant it when you said no one would get left behind. You forgave the Twins after what they did to Derek, but you couldn’t forgive me for something I had absolutely _no_ control over?”

Tears streamed down his face, but Stiles forced eye contact with first Isaac, then Lydia, then stopped at Scott. “I was possessed,” he said, coughing past the waver of his words. “I was trapped in my own body, screaming to get out when no one would believe me that things were going wrong. I didn’t kill her. We were two separate entities by then, and I was with _you,_ ” he pointed at Lydia, “when she died. The Nogitsune made sure I felt every fucking second of it. And you still _left me_ , and let her father follow me for six months with a gun in his hand just waiting for me to fuck up so he would have an excuse to murder me. Did he finally give up? Is that why you _actually_ came looking for me? Cus’ my door was wide open when I moved out and I doubt my dad would’ve missed that.”

“He was just keeping an eye on you,” Scott argued, completely skimming over the last sentence.

Stiles should have known that Scott was aware. He should’ve guessed, but he’d wanted so badly to give Scott the benefit of the doubt. “I was two minutes late coming out of the high school when I caught him coming after me with a loaded rifle, Scott. He wants me dead.”

It was too much for one night, and Stiles had already worked his way past a nightmare earlier. He turned to Derek and let him wrap Stiles up against his chest.

“I hope you’re a better Alpha to them, Scott. Even the strongest Alpha can become an Omega. Get out of our territory,” Derek warned. “ _Now._ ”

The Alpha rumble was unmistakable, but Stiles shoved himself into it, linking his wrists behind Derek’s neck until Derek lifted him up and he could do the same with his ankles at Derek’s waist. He didn’t pay attention to the slamming of the door or the shouting coming from behind it. Just the soft murmurs of his lover and then the half-warmth of abandoned bedsheets.

He had everything he needed right here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know I didn't properly address Stiles' dad, but I didn't want to make this whole chapter an insane amount of ripping the other characters new ones, so I just stuck with destroying the whole "True Alpha's are perfect cinnamon buns" bullshit and gave Derek back his Alpha spark because he's a FUCKING ALPHA, DAMN IT.  
> For those of you wondering, no, I don't plan to write any more in this fic, or as part of this universe. However, if you have any ideas that you just can't get out of your head, please feel free to write them yourself! Fics are so much better when shared, and I'd love to see what you guys come up with.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for following along as I posted this, your support has been so goddamn nice and I love reading each and every one of your comments! If you enjoyed this fic, please considering subscribing to my account because eventually I WILL post more Sterek. I just procrastinate a lot. Also, if you're interesting in following me about, I have a [Sterek Specific Tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com/) and a [ Main Tumblr](https://livinginfictions.tumblr.com/). Feel free to follow me on either or both.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [nothing but endless empty (the sea in the dark)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221462) by [harleyneedsanap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleyneedsanap/pseuds/harleyneedsanap)




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